


Why Are There So Many Songs About Rainbows

by Chash



Series: Someday We'll Find It [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 23:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14681577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Murphy's never been very into the whole soulmate thing, but, in his defense, it's hard to get that excited about knowing that the person you're supposed to spend the rest of your life with is going to kick you in the balls.





	Why Are There So Many Songs About Rainbows

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking idly about how I'd never had Memori in a soulmate AU I'd done, and I started wondering what a Memori soulmate AU would look like, and now we're here.

Murphy’s feelings on soulmates are kind of a chicken-and-egg situation. He thinks soulmates are kind of stupid and he doesn’t trust them, but maybe that’s just because his soulmate is kind of terrifying, based on what little he knows about them.

“At least they exist,” is Bellamy’s take on it, which is the problem with having friends who don’t have soulmates. They’re always there to remind you that the grass is greener.

“Okay, but still. I know exactly one thing about my soulmate,” he says, holding up his finger to demonstrate. “And that’s that the first thing they ever do to me is knee me in the balls.”

“You don’t actually know that,” says Miller.

“Yeah,” his boyfriend adds. “Obviously I haven’t seen the exact pattern, but that could be a blowjob.”

“Nope,” says Bellamy, taking a gulp of his beer. “Because the mark isn’t on the underside of his dick.”

“How many times have you seen Murphy’s dick?” asks Miller.

“We were roommates in college,” says Bellamy.

“I don’t think I ever saw my college roommate’s dick,” Monty says, but with this tone like he can’t be _sure_.

“I wanted to see his soulmark,” Bellamy says, with a shrug. “Well, the rest of his soulmark.”

Murphy, being blessed as he is, has three distinct soulmarks, indicating that his soulmate touches him for the first time in three different places at the exact same time: one hand on either side of his hips, and a strong, solid hit to his crotch area. Bellamy’s right; there’s no way the patten could come from a mouth. Not unless it was a really weird mouth and a really bad blowjob.

His best guess is that his soulmate is someone who doesn’t like him, and they grab his hips right as their knee comes up to slam into his dick.

And, honestly, he doesn’t know what else he was expecting from a soulmate. That sounds like exactly what he should get.

He’s also not sure if his personality developed the way it did because of this knowledge about his soulmate, or if he’s naturally an abrasive asshole. Nature versus nurture, in a way. Anyone would be kind of bitter about this one.

“Isn’t that awkward when you hook up?” asks Monty. His curiosity is to be expected; he’s not a new addition to Bellamy and Miller’s group—he and Miller have been dating for a couple years—but Murphy is. The three of them went to college together, and Murphy's just moved here a few months ago. Apparently they’re now at the point that Monty is comfortable asking about his sex life. 

Murphy would have been okay never getting here. 

"I don't actually hook up much," he says, with a shrug. "Asexual. Don't really care. Anyone who’s seeing my my junk already knows the deal."

"Personally, I'm really looking forward to Murphy meeting his soulmate and upgrading his dick to rainbow," Bellamy says. "That's going to look really cool."

"If it's a guy I'll be all set for pride," Murphy agrees, raising his glass. "Also, fuck you."

Bellamy taps his beer against Murphy's. "Not tonight. But call me once you have a rainbow dick, and we'll talk."

*

If he's honest, Murphy had expected to find his soulmate pretty early in life. It's not as if he's stopped being an asshole, but getting actively kneed in the groin is one of those things you ideally outgrow. He went to plenty of college parties where he was more than prepared to get in a physical fight, and several where he actually _did_ , but no one has ever actually kicked him in the balls in the exact right way. And the older he gets, the less he's sure how it's going to happen. Adults don’t generally deal with their problems with groin hits.

"Maybe it is a sex thing," says Octavia, thoughtful. "Like Bell's."

"Mine isn't a sex thing," Bellamy grumbles. Murphy's pretty sure no one actually thinks that, but that doesn't mean they're going to stop making fun of him about it. 

At least he's working the rainbow hair.

"Maybe your soulmate is so surprised by the sight of your soulmark that they lose balance, catch themselves on your hips, but their face still crashes into your dick," Clarke offers, bright.

"I'm not sure what I'm doing getting naked in front of someone who doesn't know what's going on with my soulmark," he points out. "Also, how many people have ever crashed into your crotch? Bellamy doesn't count."

"At some point this is going to get old," Bellamy says, and Octavia pats his shoulder.

"It's really not. You got a soulmate, stop complaining." She cocks her head at Murphy. "Do people ever just not meet their soulmates?"

"Probably." He shrugs. "Look, I don't actually care that much. I get it, now that Bellamy's set instead of moping about how he's going to die alone, you're worried about me. But I don't mind dying alone, so whatever. No one has to make this into a project."

He means it, but he also doesn't really believe anyone is going to let this go. And, admittedly, if it was someone else, he wouldn't want to let it go either. If Miller's soulmate was going to knee him in the balls, Murphy would be taking out ads trying to figure out who it was. He would be getting people to line up to try it out.

Which is maybe why Echo says, "I need your help with something."

"No," he says, immediately.

"No?"

"Ask Monroe."

"I need a guy."

"Ask another one."

She crosses her arms. "It's not hard, and I'll be doing you a favor."

"Pass."

"You haven't even heard what I'm asking you to do yet."

Echo and Murphy aren't exactly friends, but they work together and get along well enough. They're both kind of surly and sarcastic, and if she hadn't already met her soulmate, he would have considered her a prime candidate for kicking him in the balls. He likes her, but he also trusts her less than he trusts the average person, which is saying something.

"Okay, so tell me."

Echo opens and closes her mouth, apparently realizing she's made a tactical error. "I need someone to come to my self-defense class to get the shit beaten out of them."

"And you thought, _wow, I bet Murphy wants to do that_."

"For better or worse, you are the first person I think of when I think of people getting hit in the groin."

"Wow, I'm touched. Hard pass."

"You would have padding," says Echo, unimpressed. "And you know someone is going to hit you in the groin eventually. I don't know why you don't want to see if you can get it out of the way now, in a controlled environment."

"Maybe I don't want to get it out of the way." 

Echo looks at her arm, the swirled rainbow handprint of her soulmate's touch not entirely a positive for her. The first time the two of them got drunk together, she opened up about it, how she loves her soulmate, but she can't stand him sometimes too. How it might be easier for her if they didn't have this thing linking them, this certain knowledge that they were meant to be together.

"It's better to know," she says, firm. "I would take that over uncertainty, every time."

"I think you just want to watch a bunch of people kick me in the nuts."

"Not _just_ that."

He snorts, somewhat against his will. "When is this?"

"Two weeks. Thursday night, after work. My regular volunteer canceled."

"Yeah, okay. I'll let you know."

Echo claps him on the shoulder, and he appreciates that he does not have to worry at all that this will cause his skin to burst into color. And she might be right; it might be nice to stop wondering when it will happen. To just have it over with.

"I hope I get to kick you in the balls,” she says.

"Yeah, me too."

*

In general, Murphy does not identify as someone who talks about his feelings. As much as possible, he doesn't identify as someone who has feelings, but that one's a little trickier. He can only do so much to avoid those. And soulmate feelings are the worst feelings, because he doesn't really identify with people who can't wait for theirs. It's cool in theory, he guesses, to have someone who understands you, but that's not all you get. Murphy doesn't think he'd get the kind of soulmate Bellamy and Octavia have; he doesn't know if he'd _want_ that. He'd probably be more like Echo, this weird frenemy he can't escape. And, honestly, that's like _all_ his friends. He doesn't need another. He already has like five.

Still, he needs advice, and he has the friends he has, so he puts it for a vote. "My coworker wants me to let a bunch of people kick me in the crotch."

"We all want that," Bellamy says, immediately.

"Yeah, I want to kick you in the crotch right now," Miller adds. "You don't need your coworker to do that."

"She teaches a self-defense class," Murphy goes on, ignoring him. "She needs a volunteer and says I might as well let myself get beat up when I'm wearing a cup."

"She's not wrong," says Miller. "That sounds way better than just getting kicked.”

"Yeah, but not getting beat up at all sounds way better."

"Realistic expectations only," says Raven. She's Clarke's friend, so he doesn't know her that well yet, but she seems cool. Her soulmark is this odd splash of rainbow on her cheek, like she got slapped by silly putty; she and her soulmate apparently have known each other since they were babies, and it didn't work out.

Sometimes, he feels like all he knows is sad stories, but then he looks at Octavia and Niylah, or Clarke and Bellamy, or even Monty and Jasper. It could be cool, probably. 

"You think I should do it?" he asks Raven.

"Can we come watch?"

"It's a self-defense class, not a spectator sport."

"If we sign up for the class, do we get to kick you in the balls?" Clarke asks, sounding way more interested than he wanted her to.

"It's full," he says, flat. "And I'm not saying I'm going to do it."

"Might as well do it once," says Raven. "Then, next time someone asks you, you can say you tried it and it didn't work."

"Or you find your soulmate," Bellamy says. "And then you can stop wondering when someone's going to come along out of nowhere and kick you in the balls."

He doesn't want it to be a good argument, but it honestly kind of is. His soulmarks aren't obvious, not something he gets asked about that much, because they're covered by his clothes, but they still feel like ticking time bombs.

"And you should be able to figure out pretty fast if anyone there could actually be your soulmate," Clarke adds, holding up her hand. "Your soulmate should have two black palms, and a black patch on one leg. Right? So if there's no one like that--"

"I just leave," he agrees, and Clarke throws her straw wrapper at him. "What? What's the point of staying if I already know it's not working out?”

"Your coworker is teaching this, right?" asks Bellamy. Murphy nods, and he shrugs one shoulder. "I wouldn't ditch someone who teaches actual classes on how to kick someone's ass."

It's a valid point. "Yeah. I guess if I do it, I better be sure."

*

"John!"

There are only a handful of people who call Murphy _John_ , and only one of them that he actually likes: Emori, his go-to contact in the IT department. He's not great with computers, but he's leagues ahead of everyone else in his suite, so she'll BCC him when she has to explain really basic shit to his coworkers, which he appreciates, and she's got a sharp sense of humor and eyes that light up every time she smiles.

The smile isn't bad either.

And, not that he's noticed or anything, but she has black palms. She wears jeans to work, taking advantage of their lax dress code, so he has no idea about her legs, but, well.

Black palms. Both of them. And she's never touched him.

He slows his pace so she can catch up. "Hey, Emori, what's up?"

"I hear I get to beat you up tonight."

His heart lurches uncomfortably in his chest. "Yeah? You're coming to that?"

"I thought it was worth learning. I was surprised to hear you were the victim."

"It's a self-defense class, right? Doesn't that mean you guys are the victims and I'm the enemy?"

"That's probably right. It still didn't sound like your kind of thing."

He could tell her, obviously. He could lay it out, explain his soulmark and how he doesn't really _care_ , but he is curious, and it didn't sound like the worst idea.

He could just reach over, right now, and touch her arm. If he can do that, she's not his soulmate. He can make the question go away; he can be sure.

His fingers twitch, but they don't move.

"Guess I'm just a really good guy," he says, and she laughs.

"That must be it."

*

There are twenty-five women in Echo's self defense class, most of them from their company. He doesn't know all of them, but he's at least seen them in passing, and most of them don't look actively excited to fight him, just kind of generally happy to be here. He can't see all their hands, but he can see marks on some of them in other places, black on their arms, rainbows on their cheeks. It's not hard to spot someone who can't be his soulmate. Emori’s the only real candidate he can find.

And she can't be it either, obviously. There's no way.

Once everyone's arrived, Echo brings Murphy to the front of the room, clapping him on the shoulder. "I believe most of you know John Murphy. He'll be our assailant today. I always like to begin with a demonstration of what an untrained attack looks like, so would anyone like to come up and take the first swing at him?"

There's some nervous giggling, but no volunteers, and Echo rolls her eyes. "I'm serious. If I don't get a volunteer, I'll pick someone."

Emori's hand goes up. She's wearing a tanktop and loose workout pants, which means he still hasn't gotten a good look at her legs.

"Great," says Echo. "Murphy, I'm just going to have you stand here, and--"

"Emori," she supplies.

"Emori, just do whatever you would do if you needed to attack someone."

Murphy has never actually had this exact experience before, and he’s not a fan. He's met other people who could have been his soulmate, men and women with two black palms, but he never had this moment of them sizing him up, deciding how to touch him for the first time.

He feels as if he should warn her, should tell her that if she decides to kick him in the groin, she might--

He doesn't get a chance. She moves quickly, in exactly the right way--hands on his hips, her right shin coming up to crash into his junk. It's the blow he's been waiting for since he figured out what his soulmark must mean, and thanks to Echo's padding, it doesn't hurt nearly as much as he thought it would.

"Was that it?" Echo asks, and Emori's hands drop away from him as she glares. He can see the color there, two sunbursts on her palms, spreading out to her fingers, curling around the slight deformity that he wonders if he could have identified on his own body, if he looked hard enough.

"I thought I could do whatever I wanted," says Emori, oblivious so far to the change.

Murphy's having a little trouble coming up with something to say. Sarcastic lines are kind of his thing, but--he really thought it couldn't happen. He was so sure it wasn't her.

"I know we just started, but we're going to take a break," Echo tells the class, and Murphy watches them giggle and gossip. They all noticed; it's just Emori they're waiting for. 

"What?" asks Emori, and Murphy gets his act together.

"Your hands."

She startles, looking down, and then back up at him. "John?"

"Man, you didn't even wonder?" he asks. "Why did you think you had three marks? How did it not even--"

"Don't make me kick you again," she says. "I thought you would have warned me."

"You didn't warn me. You just kicked me in the nuts."

"That's what I always do! The boys at school used to make fun of me about my hand, and that's what I always did. I thought it would serve them right if one of them had to be my soulmate."

"That's fucked up," he says, with some admiration.

"You're my soulmate, you should like it." Her mouth twists up in a smirk. "That soulmark must have been a pain."

"It’s a great conversation starter." He clears his throat. "Guess we should talk, huh?"

"We still have a class to get through," says Echo, because she's exactly that kind of buzzkill. Murphy kind of respects it. "You can figure it out after."

"Always the romantic," Murphy mutters. He offers Emori a smile. "You want to beat me up some more and then get coffee?"

She grins back. "I thought you'd never ask."

*

"So, not to be that weird stranger who's asking you to overshare," Monty says, the first time Murphy brings Emori out for drinks. "But I think we all have some questions about the rainbow dick."

"He has a name," says Emori, without missing a beat, and Murphy has to bite back on a shit-eating grin. Soulmates still kind of weird him out, but his is definitely awesome.

"It's honestly just a normal dick," he adds, to Monty. "But if you want to come see--"

"I'm just trying to figure out the aesthetics," Clarke muses, like she's thought about this. She's an artist, she probably has. "Is it bands of color, or--"

"This is already so much more than I ever wanted to hear about Murphy's dick," says Miller.

"Hey, I'm the one who's seen it, I should be getting the updates here," says Bellamy.

"Can it, Rainbow Dash."

Bellamy points out that Miller's the only person here _without_ some rainbow on him, which is the kind of thing he wouldn't have said before Monty and Clarke happened, so that's cool. Everyone's got some personal growth going on.

The conversation moves on, the bickering spiraling like it always does, and Emori leans in, smiling the smile that makes him want to lift up his shirt and look at the pattern of rainbows on his sides, just to remind himself he's really supposed to get her. 

“I like your friends, John,” she murmurs, and he makes a face.

“Are you sure? Because I’m not attached. We can ditch them any time. As soon as possible.”

“Not before you show them your dick,” she teases, and he laughs.

“Okay, yeah. But after that, we’re gone.”

She really is his soulmate, because she just leans her head on his shoulder, still smiling. “Of course we are.”

So, really. It could be worse.


End file.
